


Never Gonna Happen

by kethni



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, F/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 14:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: She couldn’t let down her guard even for a fucking moment. It was goddamn exhausting.





	Never Gonna Happen

“I could kiss you, but that’s never going to happen.”

Shit. Why the fuck had she said that? Why the fuck did she say half the things she said to him? Not the bits where she was telling him that he was a dick, or calling him a robot, those were fine. The other bits. The ones about his dick or his ass, or his cum face. Or how she _could_ kiss him, but she wasn’t going to.

Fuck.

She’d seen that one hit. Most of what she said rolled right off him just like it rolled off the rest of those fuckers. That one had put him on the back foot for once. Typical fucking man. Just because they didn’t want you, didn’t mean _you_ weren’t supposed to want _them_. How dare you not want them? It was the job of women to be always sexually desirable and either in a relationship or completely available.

Kent Davison wasn’t the kind of guy who made comments about women to their faces. He didn’t stare at their tits or grab their ass. But he was a man. That just meant that he kept that shit on the downlow. Those fuckers were _worse_. They snuck up on you. You thought you could trust them and then, just when you let your guard down, they attacked.

She didn’t trust Kent. _Obviously,_ she didn’t trust him. That fucker was constantly screwing her over. She was goddamn sure that he went out of his way to undermine her at every opportunity. 

Just like every other guy.

All the talk about partnership, about being two halves of a whole, it was shit. No fucker cared about her but her. She couldn’t let down her guard even for a fucking moment. It was goddamn exhausting.

Selina jacked off in the bathroom. Sure, sitting on the toilet with her panties around her ankles wasn’t exactly the height of sensuality, but it got the job done. She started off imagining George Clooney carrying her into a hotel room but somehow it morphed into someone pulling her hair, someone growling at her to look up at him. She was on her knees in front of him, her mouth full, as he yanked on her hair. The voice was wrong. The growl was wrong. Familiar. Too familiar.

She looked up.

Not Clooney. Kent Davison. Kent Davison pulling her hair. Kent Davison growling at her. Kent Davison’s dick filling her mouth.

Selina smothered her groan as she came. She stared at the back of the restroom door.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

***

‘I’m bored,’ Selina said, leaning back on her casters.

Amy looked at her over the top of her tablet. ‘You have meetings at –’

‘Meetings make me _more_ fucking bored,’ she said. ‘Not less. Jesus Christ, listening to old men banging on about how they would do my job better than me and blah blah blah.’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘I need some fun.’

‘There’s a fundraiser –’

Selina rolled her eyes. ‘Jesus, Amy, how do you live with so much fun?’ She leaned forward, landing heavily on the casters. ‘I’m the vice president. Where’s my invitation to wild illuminati parties and orgies and all that shit?’

Amy gave it some thought. ‘It’s a boy’s club.’

‘Damn fucking right,’ Selina said. ‘Where are _my_ hookers and blow? Where are my drugs and dildos?’

‘I bet Sue knows,’ Amy said.

Selina snorted. ‘I’d pay good money to see you ask her.’

‘Or Gary,’ Amy suggested.

They both thought about it.

‘Not Gary,’ Selina decided.

‘Oh God, no,’ Amy agreed.

***

“I could kiss you, but that’s never going to happen.”

Kent was not gifted at reading people. He would certainly admit that, although there were plenty of other people who would admit it for him. However, he knew how Selina Meyer felt about him. Lord know that she had never made a secret of her feelings for him. Nonetheless, there was a difference in being able to read something so blatantly obvious and in hearing it spoken out loud. It was so… _unnecessary_. It was oddly reminiscent of Missy Jay.

Missy had been in Kent’s class. That is to say that she was in the sixth grade when he skipped a grade and joined it. Missy was one of the popular girls; a whip-smart, hugely ambitious, natural athlete who, contrary to all manner of stereotypes, generally chose to overlook the less socially gifted rather than bully them. When she was assigned to be Kent’s lab partner, she was gracious, if baffled by the awkward, uncomfortable, younger boy.

She was undoubtedly aware of his crush. Although Kent had never been one for making advances to women, as an adult he was quite capable of speaking to attractive women without blushing and stammering. As a child and young teen, the same could not be said. He had never made any “moves” on Missy and she had ignored his hopeless crush.

Until one hot day during recess he heard Katie Collins sniggering about “the little Poindexter freak who wants to put his hand up your skirt.”

Missy could have said anything. She could have said the always popular “shut up” or “he doesn’t” or even “so what?” What she actually said was, “ew, gross! that’s disgusting! He’s like a freak of nature.”

Kent asked for another partner in class.

The voices in the corridor were growing louder. Kent sighed. He was going to have to talk to Furlong and he really didn’t want to.

The door to his office was thrown open. President Hughes, face reddened from false bonhomie, stood in the doorway with Furlong.

‘Kent, Roger and I have just been discussing the unfortunate lack of close ties between the West Wing and the House.’

‘We did lose the House,’ Kent said mildly.

‘And the poor souls who are still there need to know that they have our full support.’

Kent waited for the shoe to drop.

‘So, Roger needs an in with the Cookie Club,’ Hughes said, waggling his eyebrows.

‘Fuckers blackballed me.’ Furlong said. ‘I’d like to brown ball them.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Kent murmured.

‘You’re on good terms at the club,’ Hughes said, ignoring this. ‘You can take Roger in as a guest.’

‘Two guests,’ Furlong said.

Kent pursed his lips. ‘There’s a charge per person. You want to take Will?’

Furlong pulled a face. ‘Will? Will can get his own hookers and blow. I want to take my wife.’

Kent blinked. He looked at Hughes, who shrugged.

‘Sure,’ Kent said, failing to muster up any enthusiasm.

The Cookie Club wasn’t his favourite place at the best of times and taking the Furlongs was far from the best of times.

***

Selina fussed with her dress. Hot pink was _not_ her power colour. Feathers were not her accessory.

‘I look like a flamingo,’ she complained.

Amy adjusted her mask to better see Selina. She was wearing a dress with a ridiculous number of overlapping sequins. She looked like a terrible _Little Mermaid_ cosplayer who had lost her wig.

‘It’s still early enough to go to the concert instead,’ she suggested.

‘Fuck that,’ Selina snapped. ‘We’re going to this stupid club and we’re going to have fun.’ She didn’t want to know the sort of fun that Sue was planning to have. The red leather jumpsuit and knee boots looked hot as hell, and not in a good way.

The younger woman was always tall but in stiletto heels she completely towered over Selina and Amy. Even with the curly wig, even with the mask, she had to be distinctive. She was certainly memorable. Selina would be trying to purge her from her memory for the foreseeable future.

The Secret Service were unenthusiastic about waiting outside but Selina firmly put down her thousand-dollar-shoe clad foot. The one female agent accompanying them was in silver hot pants and looked as uncomfortable as a line backer in a tutu.

Sue flashed an app on her cell at the door man, then watched Selina and Amy pony up the entrance charges. Wasn’t that just fucking typical?

Inside was far quieter than she expected. She could hear faint strains of music when doors were opened but here in the reception was quiet.

Selina took a breath. ‘Okay ladies. Let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes and have a quick check. Make sure nobody is too freaked out.’

It was difficult to tell, because of the mask, but she was pretty sure that Sue rolled her eyes.

Selina stomped away without waiting for Amy’s response. She was just as adventurous as they were, damn it. This had been her idea, hadn’t it? Amy’s idea of wild sex and drugs was probably popping a Tylenol and fucking with the lights on.

Selina heard a familiar braying voice: Roger _fucking_ Furlong. She opened the nearest door, and walked in.

***

Kent averted his eyes. Any Roger Furlong was too much Roger Furlong. Roger Furlong in assless leather chaps and top that consisted entirely of chains and leather strips was the stuff of nightmares. He daren’t look in Mrs Furlong’s direction. Instead he kept his eyes averted, led them into the club, and snuck off as quickly as possible. The truth was that Kent only visited rarely. Membership was more something to boast about than of which to make use. D.C. was too small for anyone to truly disguise themselves even with masks or costumes. You could recognise not just a face or voice but gait, stance, or body language. Hell, Kent had been recognised himself by his hair of all things.

Inside the club, he ducked into a side room he knew was generally used for the more private assignations. He _had_ used it in the past, public exhibitions of even anonymous encounters not being to his taste, but not recently. He was rarely in the mood for meaningless sex and, although he enjoyed certain diversions on the highways and byways of common sexual behaviour, his taste with strangers was strictly vanilla. Nothing else was safe.

The door opened. A petite woman in a hot pink dress, stood in the doorway. Against the brighter light in the hallway, she was bathed in shadows.

‘Someone in here?’

Kent took a step forward. He knew that voice, but hearing it there, from a woman in pink dress edged in feathers, made no sense.

‘Uh,’ he said. ‘Good evening.’

He couldn’t see her expression. He could barely make out the mask that she was wearing. But he saw her stiffen, and then cock her head. She had more to lose than he did. Far more reasons to stay anonymous.

Selina stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. ‘This is a first for me.’

‘Here?’

‘Yeah.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘If you’re nervous…’

She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I was nervous.’

He thought about telling her that he was nervous. But even now, masked and hidden, she was unwilling to admit a shred of vulnerability.

‘What _are_ you here for?’ he asked.

She swayed forwards, swinging her hips and wetting her lips. ‘I’m here for fun,’ she said, her voice a low growl. ‘Can you help me out, Mr… what kind of outfit is that?’

‘English Rifle Corps, circa the Napoleonic War,’ he said.

‘Huh.’ She ran her fingers along the braiding of his tunic. ‘Suits ya. Well, what do you say, Mr Rifleman, can you help me out?’

***

She was suspended in silken ropes with her legs and core taking most of the weight. She was just off balance enough to spin in slow, erratic circles. The hot pink dress was on a hook behind the door, but her shoes dangled from her toes.

Kent checked his watch, then carefully untied the rope, bracing himself to take the weight, and lowered her.

She protested, but her complaints were muffled by the gag.

‘Any longer might be dangerous,’ Kent said.

Selina rolled her eyes as he slowly, delicately, unwound the soft ropes from her calves and thighs. She was happily light-headed and, as he massaged the redness from her flesh, a pleasing pain rippled out from his touch.

He slid the ropes from her arms and torso. Selina unbuckled the gag and threw it aside. She leaned back on the chaise, enjoying the sensation of her back stretching.

Kent looked at her, a slight smirk on his lips, and amusement in his eyes.

His fingers slipped across her breasts, following the faint red lines from the ropes.

Selina rubbed her foot along his calf, her spiked heel making him hiss. 

‘You gonna fuck me now?’ she murmured.

‘Are you ready?’ He slid his hands up her arm, moving them up over her head.

‘Willing and able,’ she breathed. She grunted as he tied her wrists to the chaise.

She expected to be fucked. Probably hard. Hopefully mercilessly. She _didn’t _expect the kiss. She didn’t expect his left hand on her cheek as he kissed her.

As he deepened the kiss, she pulled against her bonds, pushing up against him. She felt him shift as he unbuttoned his pants. Then he was pushing them down and lifting her legs up onto his shoulders.

‘Do it, do it,’ she growled.

He grinned at her and ducked his head. He flicked his tongue along her labia and across her clit.

‘Fucker!’ she bellowed, throwing back her head.

She felt him move. Her thighs were pushed towards her.

He kissed her neck. He bit her shoulder. She felt him smile against her neck as he entered her.

***

Kent stood under the pounding water until his eyes began to sting. Somewhere nearby he could hear Furlong singing. Good Lord.

After Kent showered and changed, he headed to the civilian exit. There was something rather sad about the idea of putting the costume back on to leave through the main exit once the night was done and you were… depleted. Far better to leave quietly.

His Uber was on the street. As he opened the door, he saw a town car glide to a halt in front of him. He should have kept his head down and got into the Uber. Instead, he looked across at Sue Wilson in a designer tracksuit, Amy Brookheimer in a Penn State t-shirt and jeans, and the Vice President of the United States in a hot pink dress with feathers.

Kent chuckled. No Gary. No fresh clothes.

Perhaps Selina heard him. Perhaps she felt his gaze. Whatever the spur, she looked over at him. In the subdued light of streetlamps, shorn of makeup, she looked fragile and vulnerable.

Kent raised his hand. He had no idea why.

Her answering smile was a little nervous and a lot uncertain. But then she returned his wave.

A moment late she was inside the town car. Kent watched her car drive away.

The End


End file.
